Chapter 23: Can't Run Anymore, Can You?

"Guys! We had a great first half, everything is going according to plan!"In the locker room, Oripe clapped his hands and loudly boosted morale. Listening to Oripe's speech, smiles began to appear on the players' faces. Although the first half was tough and exhausting... They had still managed to keep the score level—0:0. "Bakic made some brilliant saves!" Mlinar said with a smile. Bakic, clearly pleased with the praise, raised his chin smugly. Seeing him like that, everyone burst into laughter. Still, his outstanding performance had undoubtedly lifted their spirits. If he'd played like his usual sieve-like self, they might have conceded several goals by now. But luck was on their side. "Suke!" Oripe turned to look at Suke, and the others all shifted their gaze as well. "Here!" Suke responded loudly, his voice steady, face calm. Though there were signs of sweat, he looked almost fully recovered. Everyone had seen how Suke performed in the first half. As a striker, he could have stayed up front and waited for passes—there was no need to drop back and defend. But it was precisely because of Suke's defensive contributions and support that they were able to disrupt the opposition's midfield attacks and launch counterattacks of their own. He didn't get a single shot on goal in the first half, but his penetrating passes and link-up play had given the team a huge boost in confidence. The players of Mostar Wanderers were no longer timid like they were at kickoff. After a half of battling, they even felt like they had a shot at winning. Of course, that all depended on their "small" center forward. "How's your stamina?" Oripe asked with concern. After all, someone running like Suke for a whole half shouldn't have much left in the tank. But Suke gave a thumbs-up and said, "Fully recharged! Just pass it to me—I'm ready to break through their defense!" Hearing that, everyone smiled again. Especially Mlinar. If they wanted to win this game, Suke had to show up big. They might feel guilty for it, but they were placing all their hopes for victory on him. And from the looks of it, he somehow still seemed fresh—like he hadn't burned through much energy at all, which was pretty amazing. "Good." Oripe nodded hard, his eyes flashing with determination as he clenched his fist. "Let's give them something to remember in the second half!" Meanwhile, in the other locker room... Van Stuyack was raging. "Slow attacks! Disorganized defense!" "Where's the overlapping from our attacking fullbacks? Where's the wing play?" "The wings haven't spread the field at all, and the midfield is just a mess." "Bastelov! How many times have I told you—drop back to receive the ball! Don't just stick to the front line! Your job is to pull the defenders and create space for the wingers to cut in!" Van Stuyack pointed furiously toward the field. "Look at how their striker plays!" Bastelov was still stunned by a prior hit, but when he came to, the coach was glaring straight at him. "Zoning out during a tactical talk?" Van Stuyack lowered his voice, making it sound even more threatening. Bastelov panicked and tried to explain. "Coach, I—" "Just do your job in the second half," Van Stuyack cut him off, voice cold. "And make yourself useful." The teeth-gritting tone made Bastelov feel even more uneasy. All he could do was nod. "In the second half, compress the space again. Don't forget team shape. Attack and defend as one unit—maintain cohesion at all times!" Van Stuyack tapped his temple. "Use those thick skulls of yours to actually think!" Finally, he pointed to central defender Pokacic. "Mark their number 9. That little guy keeps dropping deep. Follow him, and shut him down before he gets the ball." Pokacic nodded immediately. "Understood." Clap clap clap!Van Stuyack clapped to regain everyone's attention. "Alright, second half—Suke's stamina should be running low. This is our chance to score." With that, his halftime talk ended. The players exchanged looks. Suke? Modric spoke softly, "Their number 9 is named Suke." Everyone suddenly understood—and grew curious. How did the coach know Suke's name? At that moment, Van Stuyack leaned against the wall with one shoulder, scribbling furiously in a notebook. He was sketching tactical diagrams and movement paths, making notes here and there. His eyes were fixed on the pages, a spark of inspiration slowly glowing brighter in them. The more chaotic the diagram on the page became—almost like graffiti—the clearer his thoughts seemed to be. Whew...Van Stuyack closed the notebook and exhaled. "Let's see how it goes." Modric was quietly thrilled. Despite the tough situation, he was happy for his friend. Modric never felt much attachment to Zrinjski Mostar, so compared to the outcome of the game, he cared more about how his friend performed. And Suke's first half was nothing short of inspiring. His relentless running applied intense pressure on them when building out, and his link-up play helped disrupt their midfield. He even made several key tackles and interceptions. He was the reason their attacks kept stalling. And on the counter, his passes helped create real chances. Unfortunately, Mostar Wanderers' two wingers lacked finishing instincts and couldn't capitalize. Otherwise, they'd probably be behind by now. (Ad Inserted Text Skipped) What excited Modric the most, though, was the change in Coach Van Stuyack. Modric was introverted and highly sensitive, and that made him attuned to subtle shifts around him. He could clearly sense the coach starting to focus on Suke—especially after those elegant passes and link-ups. And that made sense. Van Stuyack, a Dutch coach with a "Total Football" philosophy, would have been deeply impressed by how well Suke fit that ideal. Aside from Suke's small stature, everything about his play had hit Van Stuyack like a cannonball to the chest. It was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. Zrinjski's current main tactic relied on tall striker Kosović acting as a battering ram in a classic English long-ball approach. Modric, in that system, was more of a shooter from deep. But Van Stuyack had no love for that crude style—he wanted finesse. He kept trying to mold backup striker Bastelov into a false nine, but Bastelov never got it. He just couldn't grasp tactics—he was too dull. After repeated failures, Van Stuyack was losing hope. Then he saw Suke. It was like a drowning man spotting a slim piece of driftwood—fragile, but a symbol of hope. Just from that first half, Van Stuyack was already intrigued. If Suke didn't mess up terribly in the second half, things could take a very interesting turn. With that in mind, Modric couldn't help but smile. "What are you so happy about?" Kosović turned to Modric. Modric quickly wiped the smile and muttered, "Nothing." Kosović scratched his head and smiled. "Got time tonight? I'd like to invite you over for dinner." He was trying to connect with the Croatian prodigy. As fellow Croatians, and with Modric's obvious talent, Kosović thought it was smart to build a friendship—even if Modric was tough to talk to. As expected, Modric shook his head. "I've got things to do." Kosović sighed inwardly. "Alright, next time then." Modric's lips moved slightly—he didn't even want there to be a next time. Back on the bench, the second half was about to begin. The commentator's voice was full of passion. "After a surprisingly intense first half, the score remains 0:0. The local powerhouse has taken a heavy blow from this unexpected opponent!" "Mostar Wanderers have played brilliantly—so much energy, so much discipline. Especially their small striker, Suke, who's had a phenomenal game. Let's see if he can keep it up in the second half!" Most fans had already remembered Suke. It was hard to ignore a 155cm player having such an impact. He was everywhere. On attack, he was there. On defense, he was there too. A guy working this hard was hard to dislike—even if he was the opponent. His relentless hustle was simply inspiring. Of course, Zrinjski fans still believed it was a fluke. After some halftime adjustments, they were confident of victory. Besides, there was no way Suke could maintain that pace—he'd surely worn himself out. The whistle blew, and the second half began. Right away, Suke pushed high and locked himself into the defensive line. Pokacic noticed he wasn't running like before and smirked. "Keep running now! Let's see you run!""Can't run anymore, can you?"